


Of Voyages Both Uncertain and Bright

by Zinfandel



Series: Of Voyages Both Uncertain and Bright [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Disassociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Movie Spoilers, Past Child Abuse, Post-Movie(s), Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: There is nothing left here. His future is as obscure as he is himself and only one person is left that could possibly help him. Credence boards the boat.





	1. Chapter 1

Pulling his collar in tighter, Credence let his thirty-hundred and fifty-second thought wash over him. This was a bad idea. Terrible. Why did he think…

Well he didn’t think did he. He never thought. He was stupid, a stupid unnatural-

Stop. 

No, he was out of there, and for better or for worse he was on this boat heading towards London. He would see his death another day and…

He clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering but he refused to leave the quarterdeck for the stifling warmth of his cot near the hold of the ship. 

It was all he could afford, even after looting his Ma’s stash and whatever he could find from Modesty’s old home. He had stolen a black overcoat and stuffed his few belongings in his pocket before turning his back on all he knew.

Shifting his shoulders against the wind, he hiked his loose pants up and glanced down to the lower main deck being sure to keep that mop of ginger hair in the corner of his eye. 

His mind obsessively ran back over to the thirty-hundred and fifty-third thought, why did he do this? Why did he follow that man. That Newt Scamander from the subway. Why did he wake up in some rat’s nest in a far off train tunnel covered in grit and grime but uninjured and why then did his feet pick him up and take him back home- no, to that hell of a wooden tomb...Why did he steal what he could, stepping over the corpse of his ma and how, how did he make his way to the docks and see that blue overcoat and remember that leather case from when he glimpsed the man on the bank steps what seemed like weeks ago.

He knew why of course, and he desperately had to repeat the reason to himself every time his mind faltered and he retreated a little more and his shoulders hunched lower as if to protect himself from the wind but more pointedly to make himself a smaller obstacle and less noticeable. 

He knew why.

Mr. Scamander...he offered protection once upon a time. So did that witch Tina, but Miss Tina sided with the MACUSA, with those who aligned with Mr. Graves and those who hunted him and blasted white pain at him, those who chased and surrounded and cornered him, who he feared in the glimpses of consciousness he remembered amid swirling dark dust and soot. Those who killed him…

Mr. Scamander offered protection and there was nowhere else for him to go. 

How he knew to be at the docks, to hide behind shipping pallets at just the right angle, to watch the man and his case say goodbye to Miss Tina….how he knew that...he didn’t think too hard about. It was magic of course, though he didn’t know for sure.

His feet lead him to a crossroads and he took the most promising one. What did he have left in new york anway? False siblings captured and kept under Ma’s judgement, only related by the misery they shared…

Mr. Scamander stood from the bench on the main deck and stretched his back. Credence’s thoughts dimmed out as he watched to keep him in his sights. The man tipped his head to the side and fingered something at his lapel. There was a slight flash of green at his fingertips and before Credence could lean in and get a closer look something iridescent and blue zipped right in front of his eyes.

He startled backwards and stumbled over his own feet.

“Woah, son. You alright?” an old man asked as he caught Credence by the shoulders and righted him. The swell of fright from the unexpected...thing...gritted against the underside of his skin. In his ribs. His fear was always like sandpaper. Now he knew why, didn’t he? 

It rasped against his bones, he inhaled deeply, and with a twitch and tremble, Credence righted himself. “Y-yes, sir. Thank you sir.” He mumbled, dipping his head lower, tipping the wide flat brim of his black hat forward to hide. 

Without waiting for the man’s reply he turned back to look over the railing only to find Mr. Scamander gone. 

What had flown in front of his face?

…

It wasn’t until hours later that Credence found his man again. This time in the lower level mess hall. 

Taking his small bowl of porridge, Credence buried himself in a corner of the sprawling yet crowded room. He had to remove his hat while inside, but it was no matter, no one gave him a second glance anyways. Which he prefered.

Mr. Scamander was scowling at his own bowl of porridge. 

Credence slowly and methodically ate as he watched Mr. Scamander grimace through his own meal. He was well acquainted with meager portions and no flavor, himself. Infact, this porridge was by and large much better than anything Ma usually served. Credence almost wished there was more. 

It was no time at all that Credence was scraping his bowl, then fingering the left over residue onto his tongue. 

A prickle on his neck and he paused, eyes peeking upwards.

Mr. Scamander was looking off in a different direction, his bowl half empty and forgotten.

Credence glanced over to see what caught his attention. 

All he saw was a black shadow and a glint of something metallic before the scraping sound of a bench drew his eyes back.

Mr. Scamander was gone again. His bowl left on the table. An old woman glanced around twice before taking it for herself. 

…

He couldn’t sleep well at all in his cot in the hold. It was stifling hot from the furnaces and terribly loud. Though commotion was no stranger to him, sleeping as he did all his life in a rickety church on the side of a road in New York City, the heat was something foreign and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to strip layers from his clothing either. 

He rolled out of his cot instead and shuffled down the aisle of sleeping passengers packed tight till he found the ladder leading up to higher decks. 

Soon enough, Credence was on the main deck. It was late enough that only a few lanterns were left lit and no passengers wandered. He inhaled deeply and marvelled at the different taste on the air.

Salt. Clean, light salt. 

Nothing at all like the dingy fishy rotten smell of the wharves of New York. 

For a moment the wind and the salt wiped his mind clean and his hopeless future felt far away. At least here, he was out of America and away from the hundreds of people who wanted him dead. At least here, his death was his choice. He could leave by any number of means and most of them would be his own doing. 

The thought of it was freeing, calming. 

Slowly, Credence drifted to the quarter deck, liking the higher elevation for its vantage point and distance from the waves. The engines were louder here, the hiss and crash of the water more distant. 

The white noise of the white caps reminded him sometimes of the sound of sand cascading down cement….

The thought itched into his lungs and he felt his breath catch. 

But then, a whistle trilled above the roar of the engines and the crash of water both. 

A zip of pink tripped across his peripheral and Credence whipped around. At the very aft of the ship, perched up standing on the stern railings, Mr. Scamander had his fingers to his lips whistling as a strange pink bird circled and whooped around him. Darting in and flapping his hair askew before flying back out across the waves. 

Credence stood frozen.

He didn’t imagine facing Mr. Scamander so soon, so bluntly, so...so exposed. He was exposed and before he could run, Mr. Scamander turned on the railing and looked down at him from afar. 

He couldn’t help a step back and his shoulders drew in. 

In one blink Mr. Scamander was in front of him. 

Credence stumbled back, the quarterdeck railing stopping him from toppling down a storey. 

Mr. Scamander held himself calm and still. There was no wand in his hands, his palms faced down, his wrists gently held back in a subtle but supplicating manner. 

Credence could only stand there, the backs of his arms pressed tight into the railings, his back just as stiff.

“You’re alive.”

He could only blink, his mind vacant, his body tense. He couldn’t even fathom knowing what to do, he couldn’t even know he should know anything at all. 

“Can I come closer?” Mr. Scamander asked.

His eyes found the deck boards and he could barely force his head to the side, to see the deck bolting.

Newt stayed his ground. 

“You followed me?” He tried instead.

Credence’s throat was so tight his lungs scraped with air. He managed a fretful small sound. Where did his voice go at times like these? This always happened. 

A frisson of hatred and frustration razed through himself. Why was he like this-

“Alright, alright, hey,” Newt spoke softly, gently. “You know i’m not going to hurt you. You came to me after all, let me help, how can I help you?” 

And Credence seemed to watch himself lock up. He felt distant and vacant and words did not make sense enough to for any kind of reply. A shiver rattled his bones and chafed his flesh and the cinders felt close and countless.

A lilting chirrup broke the moment. 

The pink bird alighted on an upper rail. Mr. Scamander turned to look at it, and Credence took the escape for what he knew it was. 

Mr. Scamander was letting him run.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t see his quarry the next day, mostly because he wasn’t looking.

Forgoing breakfast and lunch, Credence stayed on his cot and suffered the heat, his feet curled under him, his hands clasped in his lap, his chin to his chest.

His coat lay next to him, but he kept his hat on, kept it low, no one paid him any attention. Half-heartedly he wished someone would. Mr. Graves did, before he didn’t of course. Being seen the way Mr. Graves saw him was…

Credence didn’t really have words for it.

The hope that came with Mr. Graves’ trust was so encompassing and overwhelming, so good and pure and graced. He had come so close to freedom, to power, to having his own will and to making his own decisions.

But of course. That was all completely false, as he now knew.

The memories scratched down his spine. Mr. Graves didn’t want him, not truly at all, his promises were so so very empty. He just wanted the Obscurial, and Credence couldn’t know that was he himself, not truly, not until Ma died. Not until he murdered her.

Maybe if he had known earlier...Maybe Mr. Graves would have taken him like he promised.

Maybe he’d be learning magic by now…

A tremble started in his finger tips. Credence gripped his hands tighter.

Mr. Graves wouldn’t have truly done what he promised. Credence wouldn’t have ever found a home in him. Mr. Graves only wanted the blackness he fought down. Maybe since he was that darkness Mr. Graves would have been kind to him…

But, he knew in his guts that Mr. Graves would be just like Ma, just needing a vessel to mould to his liking. Would it have been so bad to be that for him though? Mr. Graves had been kind…

He had slapped him.

Credence’s trembling fingers gripped the waistband of his trousers, digging and twisting into the wool and grinding the buttons into his palms, scraping the stiff seam over his knuckles.

He had left his belt behind.

But it’s lack didn’t save him from the memories. The pain in his palms, the tight skin of the scars that pulled on his back, the lines of puckered skin across the tops of his thighs.

Would Mr. Graves punish him for misbehaving like Ma did? On the contrary, Ma never struck his face…

With a sucking too small gasp of breath, Credence couldn’t contain his voice on his shaky exhale. A quiet whine threaded up the back of his throat and all he could do was rock back and press his shoulders into the hull of the ship.

He was thankful the roar of the furnaces drowned out his voice.

Another gasp and another whine, almost a sob. His muscles set up and he felt bound in his own body, his memories flashing like a picture reel, blotting out his presence.

His thoughts blurred as images robbed his will and distantly he knew his trembles turned to shivers and would soon erupt into shakes and then what?

_Then what?_

Would his body rupture into swirling soot and ashes?! Would the force of himself blow out the hull and sink this entire ship? He was leaning right against the vibrating metal of the inner hull, how much force would be needed to puncture both layers?

Fear of his own memories and fear of his terrible destruction were starting on a loop of panic and Credence didn’t know how to calm down.

He came to find Mr. Scamander to beg for his help and he’d kill the man and everyone on this ship before he could ever even work up the nerve to ask and-

The clatter of breaking porcelain shattered through his ears.

His breath stuck in his throat and his head shot up.

_Was that him?_

He looked around wildly, his vest and pants twisted in his fingers. Then, he glanced down at his lap. Black sand slid and twisted over his legs and across his cot. It lifted into the air, shimmers and sparkles of ember red popped silently to life.

It looped around itself and curled in the air, dripped and helixed like tar, and Credence was distracted by the obscene beauty of it. And soon it began to drift up and shred like disintegrating tattered fabric before his very eyes.

He let out his breath in a throbbing gust. It swirled the last tendrils of his obscurus from existence.

Then, another sensation as foreign and surprising as that first loud crash caught his attention.

The scent of something sweet.

Credence looked down.

There, upon the metal bolted floor sat on a delicate porcelain plate, was a croissant the size of his fist. Honey glistened upon it’s golden flaky and _steaming_ crust.

Warily, without moving his head, Credence glanced up and down the aisle in front of his cot. There was a glimpse of what looked to be something white fading away.

What just happened.

He looked back down at the fresh and tempting croissant. There were no traces of soot left, so ever so slowly, Credence leaned forwards and picked the plate up. The pastry smelled like nothing he had ever encountered.

Well from afar maybe.

He did have distinct memories of accompanying his sisters to hand out literature and passing by bakeries who left their doors open to let the scents of their goods entice people with money inside.

Depending on the day, Chastity and Modesty would sometimes like to linger to inhale the pleasant smells or hurry on their way when their stomachs all growled a little too loudly for public company.

He’d never been so close to something so delightful smelling in his life. Credence could do nothing but stare at the curl of fluffy warm sweet bread.

But it wasn’t long into his veneration of the rare treat in his palms that he felt the prickle of eyes on him.

He glanced subtly up to see a few aisles away, the woman from the dinner hall staring right at him, her eyes fixed upon his prize.

Credence stuffed the croissant into his mouth and swallowed it down before he could even taste it, ignoring that he knew exactly who it came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the bait has been taken. 
> 
> Come at me on tumblr @ [Zinfandelli](http://zinfandelli.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

He stayed sitting in his cot then for as long as possible, until the hunger cramping his stomach could no longer be ignored. It was the next afternoon already.

He might have slept for a little while sitting up over the night but he really couldn’t remember. After devouring the croissant, he had spent indifferent hours trying to remember the taste of the honey.

It was always like that after being disciplined. The world would grow quiet around him and he’d blink to awareness finding himself in different places but never remembering how he got there. It was almost comforting that it happened now, that same numbness dripping through him. It meant time had passed, time in which he didn’t mess up, time that was not interrupted with his own misdeeds. Hours in which he hadn’t sinned and wasn’t reminded of it.

He blinked.

Credence found himself sitting in his tight corner in the mess hall, a bowl of broth with potatoes floating in it in front of him, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

He had lost time again.

That was alright. He had gotten food for himself in the meantime at least.

He was sopping up the dregs of his broth with a chunk of potato when he noticed a difference.

Sitting right in front of him, as conspicuous as possible in the low end dinner hall, was another delicate porcelain plate. This time it held on it two golden square cookies. How long it had been there was lost to him.

Without hesitating, Credence removed his hat and placed it on top of the cookies to hide them, and hopefully their smell as well.

He quickly finished his broth and very carefully lifted his hat with the cookies to carry them out of the hall. It was a bit awkward as he deposited his bowl in the overflowing sink, but somehow Credence managed to escape the hall and climb the step-ladders to the quarterdeck.

It obviously wasn’t deserted up here, but the class of people that were enjoying the sea air were wealthier and thought less of rare and delicate pastries. Credence was most invisible to these types of people, he knew this well.

Finding a small out of the way bench, Credence sat in the corner of it and hunched over his lap. Carefully he placed the plate on his knee and replaced his hat back on his head.

Then, he watched the cookies. They were terribly tempting, but that is as they should be too. Credence knew all too well the temptations of sin. How could he not.

He had devoured that croissant yesterday without a second’s thought, and now...Well now he wasn’t so overwhelmed and distressed, now he could see the cookies on his lap. Now he could remember who they were obviously from.

But he didn’t know what they meant.

Why would Mr. Scamander give him a croissant and cookies?

He well...He meant well, didn’t he? He was...On the subway tracks he was…

What was he exactly? Kind? Maybe, but it was impossible to know that for sure. He had thought Mr. Graves was kind as well...

Mr. Scamander wasn’t anything, not to Credence. At least not yet. All he was, was an opportunity for hope...but that was completely inconsequential, wasn’t it.

What Mr. Scamander really was, was actions. He had approached Credence carefully, he had knelt down in the dirt and soot of the rails and spoke softly. He had kept his distance and asked permission and tried, maybe, to wait for Credence to reply.

Then, then he defended him. He stood in front of him as Mr. Graves shot bolts of pure terrifying magic at them both. He shielded him, he suffered for him. He did; Mr. Graves magically beat him, and he was writhing in the dirt in pain. He heard Mr. Scamander’s cries piercingly well before reality blurred and the subway station collapsed with his own destructive force.

So then, what did these cookies mean exactly. Were they magical cookies? They did just appear in front of him. Just like the croissant. But the bread tasted so very good...they couldn’t be bad if they tasted so good, right?

Credence shuddered. Ma was gone. Magic wasn’t all bad. He had very little proof of that, but what little he did have he clung to. Mr. Scamander and his witch friend Miss Tina in the subway, the way the two of them said goodbye at the gangplank, how Mr. Scamander spoke to him the night before last…

Meager offerings, but if Credence didn’t depend on these, there was nothing left for him. Perhaps he was being naive, he was well known for it as he was told almost everyday. _Stop Credence, Don’t go that way Credence, Ma is gonna beat you if you keep doing that Credence, Why do you test my patience so Credence, I told you a hundred times Cre-!_

He bit into a cookie.

It disintegrated into delicious sweet buttery crumbs on his tongue and Credence couldn’t help his small gasp. It had been years since he tasted a cookie last. Even the fond memory of it couldn’t compare to this.

Slowly, he brought the shortbread back to his lips and took another small nibble. With his head tipped low, he held the cookie in his fingers on his lap and noticed the glistening of butter on his fingertips, the crumbs where his nail dug into the crunchy yet soft dough.

He sucked in another shallow breath, and his throat felt tight. The cookie wasn’t magic, right? He wasn’t poisoned was he? Witches weren’t bad, Ma was wrong. Witches weren’t bad, _Ma was wrong_.

The cold ocean wind chilled against his face and Credence knew his eyes were welling with tears. He blinked rapidly and they didn’t fall, but they felt icy against his lashes and he stared numbly at the bitten cookie and it’s still whole twin.

…

After eating half of the cookie and staring senselessly at his teeth marks for what could have been hours, Credence wrapped it and the other in his handkerchief to hold safely in his waistcoat pocket.

He made off to go find Mr. Scamander again. To keep him in his sights. The man knew he was being watched now, but Credence didn’t know how to approach him. Not again, not after the first disastrous time.

He’d watch some more, maybe learn something, figure out a way to ask for help. He didn’t want to stay on his cot anyways, and time was making itself known once more. They were three days into the ocean voyage and there were only five days left before they made harbor in London. Credence knew he needed to figure something out soon. He didn’t have a passport but that wasn’t as big of a problem as having no money.

He had never left New York before this week, he had no idea what to do once he was in London...but those plans were wrapped up tight as Credence made his way into the upper passenger accommodations.

His first day he had started to scour the decks to try and find Mr. Scamander’s room with no success, until he spotted the man during dinner for a few moments.

Now, he would try again, though really he didn’t know why he bothered. The room doors weren’t marked, and he’d never know if Mr. Scamander was inside his or not. His feet carried him regardless, and he moved without direction.

Until he came upon an old man exiting his room into the narrow hall.

Credence froze on the spot.

The man was oblivious of his presence as he turned and closed the door behind him.

Credence’s breath caught in his throat then as he watched the man sneak out a thin tip of wood from his overcoat sleeve to point at his door lock. The lock clicked itself shut.

_Magic._

This man was a wizard.

Credence sucked in an involuntary breath, and the man paused in his movements before very carefully looking up.

Unable to hold eye contact, Credence could only stare at his own shoes as he felt his shoulders hunch up.

“Oh dear.” The old man said, “I must apologize for being so careless, I’ll have to obliviate you now, won’t I. What a mess…”

“No-” Credence breathed softly.

“No need to be frightened my boy, this won’t hurt a bit,” The man said as he approached.

“N-no, please, I-” He couldn’t help that his words escaped him.

The man’s shoes stopped a foot in front of his own and Credence heard the swish of his clothing as he raised his arm to cast his spell.

“No, please, I’m just a squib!”

And the man stopped. “Oh! Is that so?” He asked, clearly relieved. “Good of you to say, I’d hate to do such a thing to you, though it is necessary for nomajs, as you know. What a relief. It’s good to see a friendly face, I’m Myron Bode, and you are? Why not walk with me and get some fresh air?”

“Credence,” Was all he could barely say as he turned and walked a step behind the strange wizard.

Luckily for him, this man could talk enough for both of them and Credence silently learned of Mr. Myron Bode’s grandsons he was visiting because they were just coming of age for school at….Hogwarts?

He quickly found himself in a tough situation as they made their way to the side railings of the main deck.

He was fascinated by this man’s stories, how he so easily spoke of things too fantastical to entertain, too terrifying. But also, he was being delayed from his search for Mr. Scamander. But _also_ , he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, how focused he was on his slow measured breathing- he couldn’t shake the shivering shifting horror deep in his bones that the things he was hearing were evil, terrible, satanic sins.

Clenching his fists till his fingernails dug into the meat of his thumb, Credence listened and warred with everything he knew.

But then, the man stopped.

“...Son?” Mr. Bode asked as he turned to finally face Credence, pausing his vigorous one sided conversation. “Are you alright, my boy?”

“Um,” Credence cringed and kept his eyes fixed on the railings.

“Are you not feeling well?”

Managing at least a small movement was difficult when he was put under attention, but Credence slightly shook his head in a negative gesture and as he glanced to the side he swore he saw a split second flash of...a green bird?

Surprised by the unexpected sight, Credence looked up and over and was most certain he saw stout tail feathers disappear below deck.

“Credence?” Mr. Bode asked and reached out a hand.

Wincing away from the assumed touch, Credence quickly backed up a step. “Sorry,” He whispered. “I’m not feeling well. Excuse me.”

“Nice meeti-” But Credence didn’t wait around for Mr. Bode to finish his goodbye as he was already hurrying after the bird.

He carefully climbed down the ladder and found the bird that was definitely not a normal bird ahead in the hallway, and that was precisely because it suddenly disappeared.

Credence stopped and looked behind himself, then turned back. The bird reappeared further down the hall. Anxiously chasing after it, his mind became blessedly free of worries for an extending moment as curiosity overwhelmed him.

The hallway was long and narrow, but the curve of the ship had the bird disappearing behind it. Wait, no. It had vanished again!

Credence jogged to make the bend, and there right at a sharp turn, the bird sat, green feathers fluffing up as it looked straight at him.

Definitely no ordinary bird. A magic bird.

It took a moment, but Credence soon noticed another porcelain plate sitting on the floor beside the bird. And with that clue, he knew. Somehow, this creature belonged to Mr. Scamander. Was it delivering another mysterious treat?

Haltingly, Credence approached it, kneeling down on the hall carpet warily so as not to scare it off. No sudden movements.

The long-necked chicken like bird just watched him, unblinking.

The scrutiny of the animal was starting to make his nerves sing, though, and Credence began to worry what might happen if someone saw him, them. It would be a disaster, he’d be caught with a magic bird and punished for entertaining such grievous sins, he’d have to repen-

The bird shook its head and noisily fluffed its feathers, jarring Credence to a halt.

He hovered with his arm raised, hand poised above the plate and stared right back at the bird.

It looked away.

And as quick as he could, Credence closed the distance and snatched the plate up. This time there was no cookie or croissant resting on it. This time there was a note.

With a squawking chirrup that snagged Credence’s attention back to the creature, the bird stood up, making it just as tall as he was sitting down.

But before Credence could make any sort of decision to action though, the bird fluffed it’s feathers again and promptly vanished.

Left alone kneeling on the hall floor, Credence looked back down at the paper and plate. In a crisp scrawl of words was written:

‘Tea after Dinner?   
2nd Deck Lounge  
~N.A.F.S.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm hm hm. it's a date!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accord is made, the future is looking up.

Credence sat all through his dismal dinner in the mess hall fidgeting with the card in one hand. 

Food that was before thoroughly adequate was like plaster on his tongue. It was an admittedly above average meal all around, but he had no stomach for it. 

He couldn’t stop flicking the stiff paper with his thumb as he hid it under his hat in his lap. It was a steady soft fwip-fwip backdrop as he methodically spooned the mashed potatoes and left-over stew into his mouth. 

After reading the card, He had lost time again kneeling in that hallway until a crewman was nearly upon him, asking if he was alright. He had fled as fast as he could while still providing all niceties to the sailor required of him though he barely remembered even opening his mouth to speak.

Then, he recovered his wits once again to see he was back on his cot, all three plates stacked and clutched to his stomach. 

He really had no idea what to do, and the uncertainty and vague formless fear of it was twisting him as tight as a watch. 

He drew in a deep breath and held it as he stared at the dregs of his potatoes in their bowl. 

Tea. Second Deck.

He didn’t have to go of course, but that seemed unaccountably rude, not to mention this was his best opportunity yet. 

He didn’t have to find his own way to approach Mr. Scamander now. Mr. Scamander was reaching out to him, inviting him to tea. On the Second Deck. 

Credence deposited his bowl in the sink and paused.

His mind blanked out for a moment, but it didn’t last long as someone else shuffled him aside to discard their own dirty dishes. He removed himself from the mess and to the main deck without any further thoughts, but paused when he made his way to the stairs that would take him down to the second deck. 

He pulled the card from his coat pocket and looked at it. Mr. Scamander hadn’t marked a time, all he said was after dinner...It was after Credence’s dinner, but did Mr. Scamander eat yet? It would probably be good to wait, just to make sure. 

Taking a seat on the slat-wood bench in the middle of the deck, Credence rubbed the hem of his jacket back and forth between his fingers, keeping his head dipped low so the brim of his hat covered more. His thoughts felt shallow and far away, but they had for a long while now. Credence was used to the sensation of drifting, and thought he probably should feel more; more remorse at the damage he caused, more fear from what he went through, more guilt for the death of his ma, more trepidation for this meeting with an actual wizard, more fascination even that he already met one and he seemed a decent enough gentleman. 

Looking up, the sky was dark, night had fallen without Credence even being aware of it. 

He sighed quietly and wondered if the time was better now or if he was too late. 

With only one way to check, Credence stood and made his way to the lower deck, walking with slow and measured steps. He was nervous, yes, but the real anxiety was like most things now, far off. 

Quietly, Credence entered the second deck lounge. It was lavishly decorated here, since it was the wealthier section of the ship. Off to the left a bar with quietly conversing patrons populated most of the room, and the rest of it housed delicate seeming tables each adorned with small electric lamps. The atmosphere was dark and sultry, just what Credence imagined a speakeasy would look like, though he’d never seen one himself. Alcohol, like witches, was a sin.

As he took in the room, Credence found Mr. Scamander off to the side, sitting at a table hugging the wall, the deep red curtains draping the walls made it one of the more private tables, and Credence just stood and watched Mr. Scamander for a long moment. His back was to him, so it was alright, he assumed. He was sipping at a teacup with a book laid on the table in front of him. 

Credence sighed with a bit of relief, this didn’t look to be a set-up even if he knew what one looked like, and there were a lot of people around so Mr. Scamander couldn’t do any flashy magic and Credence could leave if he wanted to. So. So he breathed in a deep breath and gripped the three small plates with his hat in both hands and made his way over to the table.

“Mr. Scamander…” Credence muttered as he came up beside him. 

Newt looked up not startled at all and smiled a small thing before his gaze tipped back down to the table. He closed his book and gestured to the other seat. “Mr. Barebone, I’m glad you made it.”

Credence sat down as he was bid and Mr. Scamander poured him some tea in a waiting cup. Credence instead of taking the tea, set the three plates down on the table and slid them across to Mr. Scamander, keeping his eyes down on his lap.

“Ah…” was the short reply, then, “Thank you, for returning my plates, though you could have tossed them just as well.”

He could only nod as he looked up at Mr. Scamander who was fidgeting in his seat before sipping at his own tea. 

“So uh…” Mr. Scamander spoke again after a moment, “You followed me?”

Credence nodded.

And Mr. Scamander huffed. 

“Alright well, yes, I gathered that much myself. Mmm...I’m glad you are alright. You are alright, are you not?”

Before Credence could even think better of it, his head was shaking ‘no’. 

“Are you in pain?” was the next question, and Mr. Scamander’s voice behind it was firmer, more alert.

He shook his head no again.

“Oh, good. That's...good. You’re…” Mr. Scamander trailed off and Credence could feel his eyes on him though he couldn’t make eye contact himself. 

It was a long moment of quiet and the ambient noises of the room felt like they were getting louder.

“You are scared.” Mr. Scamander stated, sure of his words.

Credence glanced down and to the side, not able to deny the claim. He could however make his voice work with some effort and forced his lips around a whispered “Protection-...”

“Oh!” Mr. Scamander’s voice seemed much too bright for their conversation now. “You remember. Good. That is something I can help you with, if you would like.”

He didn’t react to the words, unsure and afraid to show his relief so quickly, for Credence didn’t know how true they were, if he could trust Mr. Scamander. The man was a witch after all and-

No, stop. J-just because he grew up knowing without a shadow of a doubt that witches were the devil’s work did not mean it was true now. It couldn’t be true now, Credence refused to let it be true. 

“-Mr. Barebone?” Mr. Scamander asked, and Credence couldn’t help looking up. “Did you hear me?”

He shook his head ‘no’ once more. He had gone inattentive again…

“I asked if you would like to come with me? To London? I am on my way home to finish writing my book and to send it off for publishing. I own an adequate flat, you would be safe there.”

Here is where he really needed words, and he tried hard to say them. It took a moment, but finally his tongue cooperated enough he was able to rasp out “Yes, Sir, If you please.” 

“Yes. It would please me,” Mr Scamander said and contentedly sipped his tea once again, relaxing back into his chair.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Credence fidgeted with his hat in his lap, his tea was going cold…He thought he didn’t have anything to say and didn’t think his throat would work all that well at the moment either, so Credence focused on quieting the thoughts that started to bubble to the surface of his mind now that saying something had become an option.

Mr. Scamander eventually cleared his throat and spoke instead. “Why though, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Glancing up, Credence caught Mr. Scamander’s open curious expression from behind his eyelashes. He thought for a moment, why what? Why did he follow him? Why did he want protection? Because...because Credence murdered his mother of course, Murdered her, and Chastity, and terrified Modesty to the point of hysteria and attacked Mr. Graves and was attacked in return and was assaulted by more wizards than he could comprehend and amid all of the horrifying chaos one person tried to save him. Only one, until he too was attacked and and-

“- _ Credence _ .”

He startled and his knee knocked against the small table, the teacups rattling on their saucers. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry Credence, I shouldn’t have pressed, you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to of course-how is your handle on the obscurus anywa-wait. Sorry, nevermind. Ignore that, ignore me, alright?” Mr. Scamander chattered with a nervousness that twisted Credence’s stomach with guilt.

He had obviously started to tense with distress from the question and Mr. Scamander noticed it, was afraid of it. Of him, and what he was, what he could become, what he could do, how easily he could kill everyone in this room-

“Credence.”

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted again. How little control he had anymore was terrifying. He was so terrified of himself he had no idea what to do. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Scamander,” Credence managed to mumble, curling over farther, gripping the brim of his hat tighter in his fingers.

A hand appeared in his line of sight, Mr. Scamander’s laid innocently, palm up, on the table right under Credence’s nose.

“It’s more than alright, Credence. Call me Newt, please,” Mr. Scamander, Newt, said quietly his voice full of some emotion yet unnameable to Credence. 

“It is very brave of you to have faced so much and still come so far,” he said again a beat later, softly, “it would be my honor to help you with whatever you may need.” 

Credence sucked in a deep yet quiet breath.

Haltingly, Credence let go of his hat with one quavering hand, and reached up. He took Newt’s hand in his own, clutching the calloused fingers tighter than he knew he should. Newt squeezed back, hard.

Hard enough to still the tremors Credence had been fighting for weeks.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Author's Note:**

> alright kids. The plan for this fic is thus: I'm gonna try and set the Universe up, and maybe do a main storyline, but what I really want to do with this is to write ficlets and small stories in this universe to go along with prompts people give me over on the tumbles. 
> 
> Like, snippets in time of their relationship growing as they voyage across the atlantic towards london. i think it sounds fun, come give me prompts or ideas you'd like to see in the comments here or over on tumblr!
> 
> My tumblr is [Zinfandelli](http://zinfandelli.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also a thanks to [lindz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz) for making me watch the movie sooner and letting me shriek at her even though i'm late to the game


End file.
